Fading From View
by Jeanne M
Summary: A Writer, her Muse, and an X-World Fictive debate the Writer's long absence from writing.  WARNING:  Spoiler's for Jeanne's life!


Usual (not exactly) : So, where HAS Jeannie been since August? Money? NONE BEING MADE. Characters? Some belong to the delinquent parent known as Marvel, or to Vertigo. I belong to myself, Aika and Joy belong to me as well. Lethe belongs to herself. Van is his own person. The location is the same as in Subtext, which belongs to me. This was written back in September, and I am just now posting it. I know, I'm a slacker.  
  


for Van  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________  
  


Fading from View  
a Jeanne M. tale  
  


"We're fading."

I wince. "Yes. I know." Her eyes never leave me, ice-cold and sad. "I'm sorry."

"Then do something about it!" Her hand slams down on the table as fury flashes across her face. "Dammit, Jeanne! You're the Writer! Are you just going to condemn us this way?" 

"I don't like this any more than you do."

"Bullshit. Pure bullshit. You don't care anymore, do you? You burned out!" Her laughter is harsh. Mocking. "Lyrical, emotional, sensitive Jeanne burned too fast and too bright and went poof!"

"For someone who claims to be fading, you still seem quite feisty."

"You should know. You wrote me this way." Maddie Pryor's smile twists cruelly. "C'mon Jeannie, where's your sense of humor?"

"Probably wherever that damn Muse went. Remind me to hurt her whenever I finally find the little fink." 

"You know exactly where she went. She's on her way to that same place that Illyana has gone and Jubilee is headed. Faded. You can't feel them anymore, can you? Oh, the embittered Jubilee still shows up from time to time, she's still mostly solid, but poor innocent Jubilation and Illyana are gone. Off to wherever fictives go once their Writer loses the COURAGE to give them form.....ACK!"

I'm sure the hand squeezing Madelyne's vocal cords can't be too comfortable for her. "That's very cute Maddie. Insult the Writer. You should hang out in Subreality more, I'm sure someone there could tell you what happens when you tick off a Writer." I release her, and she glares. Green eyes flashing hatred. "You think I like this? Do you honestly believe that I enjoy not being able to reach you? Maddie, don't be stupid. I'm a Writer, it's the essence of my fucking existence."

"Then do something!" Her face crumples, and I can see the woman I've tried so hard to bring out. "We're all fading! Me, Illyana, Jean, Logan, Jono, Ororo, Jubilee, Rachel, hell- even Teleute and Daniel are beginning to waver! Let's not forget Aika and Joy! They're YOURS, Jeanne. You gave them life, even for only a moment! Aika will live forever, she's part of Stace and Anna. But Joy? You know she has potential! She's not a MarySue, she's got a chance to be someone!"

"What about me?" My words are soft. Tired. "Don't I deserve to be someone outside of you?"

"We are you." Her voice is just as exhausted as she slumps on to my futon. "Don't you get it? That's why people read what you write. You write us, because you see bits and pieces reflected. Jubilee's sparkling-facade, Illyana's battle against her darker nature, my desire to be something more than a shadowy image of another woman. You know these things, that's why we were drawn to you. You sit at the computer, turn on the music, and we come. We can't resist when you call us."

"But I can't call you anymore! Don't you understand that? I began to write Waltz during my junior year of high school. It didn't get finished until freshman year of college. Shattered followed almost immediately. Things just started happening from there! I couldn't control it! I don't control it! I simply don't know what to write anymore."

"Yes you do. But you won't let me give it to you." The new voice is languid, flowing. "You won't accept the Gift."

"Lethe, you are in deep shit with me right now." I won't meet the eyes of the girl I know is behind me, probably sitting on the counter. "I am not in the best mood at the moment."

"You're never in a good mood, that's the problem." I hear the rustle of fabric as she leaves her perch to stand at attention behind me. "I've given you the Gift, it's up to you to grab hold of it." A slender hand taps the table, and in a swirl of grey fog a pen and paper emerges. "You know what is needed."

"NO!" The paper is swept off the table in a smooth gesture. "I will not."

"Give it form." Her voice is cold steel. "Give it shape. The longer this festers inside, the worse the desire to write it will become, and the more painful that experience will be." 

"I can't. I can't, don't you understand that? I will not expose him like that. I will NOT allow our relationship to be distorted in that way. I refuse. I deny your Gift." I raise my head, and it is not their Writer that Lethe and Maddie see. It's Jeannie. His Jeannie. "I know you're just trying to help, Lethe, but I cannot do that. I still cry myself to sleep in the dark. I refuse to give up hope that this is all a bad dream. If I give this form, If I let you give it shape, then I admit that he's gone."

"Van is gone." Lethe's grey eyes are sympathetic. "He still loves you, you know that."

"I know." I twist the ring on my finger in anguish. "Ieme la belle. He has a matching one, you know. I got it for him when I was in Stratford."

"Love is beautiful." The Muse nods. "He still wears it. Jeanne, he's not dead. Yes, he left you. Yes, it hurts like a bitch. But you know why he did it, and it wasn't to hurt you."

"I know, Lethe. I know. He's trying to protect me. As usual."

"Caught in the shadow of other women again, eh Jeanne?" Maddie's voice cracks under the emotion. "Normally it's the other Jeanne, the original, and how you can never quite measure up to her. Now it's those two floozeys that hurt him so badly. And he's convinced that he can't offer you the love he wants to give. Van believes that rather than make you suffer, he'll give you freedom. That it'll hurt less in the end. You need to show him that he's wrong. If nothing else, Jeanne, show him. Use your Gift." Madelyne tugs at her hair distractedly, eyes distant. "Pick one of us. Any of us. Or start to Write, and let one of us come. Please, J, let us help." 

Lethe gently scoops the scattered papers from the floor, and places them before me. "There's a reason you called me to be your Muse. You remember when it was just you and the Voices. They had no shape, no form, and you were losing control to them. So you called me to contain, subdue and shape them. I am the river of forgetfulness, I offer release. In being a Writer, you face your daemons and wash them away. That's the reason you Write. It's always been the reason. One way or another, this must find release." She strokes my hair softly, twisting the blood-red strands between her fingers. "This has been eating you alive, to the point you are fading from your reality just as we are fading. It has to stop, Jeanne." 

The roar of silence in my ears is deafening. Pen. Paper. Such innocent tools. My eyes close. "Sorry Lethe, pen and paper just ain't my style." I feel the twist and I reach.....

For the laptop before me. My eyes open. "B.I.N.G.O. And bingo was its name, O!" I ignore Maddie's giggles and Lethe's exasperated sigh.

"Showoff. Why can't you people use paper? What's so wrong with paper?"

"I wrote Waltz on paper, and that was a bitch. Took up an entire notebook. Save a tree. Type. And use spell-check." I look at Lethe. "I will not expose him. I will not post unless I feel like it. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

And my fingers hit the keys.  
  
  
  


FIN.


End file.
